


Death Never Ends

by HyourinmaruIce



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, Finished unless requested otherwise, Food, Mates, Worldbuilding, also if you hit the backspace it starts backspacing through tags that you already wrote, and that's not cool, bond, well not really food but food is good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14188959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyourinmaruIce/pseuds/HyourinmaruIce
Summary: Mor meets an interesting Illyrian at a party celebrating the end of the war. The Illyrian shares the story of a life time.





	1. The Story

_** Death Never Ends, but Neither Does Life -HMH ** _

* * *

 

She saw her talking to Feyre. A wild thing with purple hair like orchids after the rain and teeth as sharp as Illyrian steel. She... was beautiful. Even her leathers and weapons couldn’t hide that. Mor couldn’t bring herself to walk closer, to be closer, to Feyre while the stranger was around. It was too tempting to peek. She turned and walked away. That voice sounded like something from her dreams…. she knew she’d never forget that laugh. It rang in her ears as she slowly moved away. It was joyous and carefree, the type of laugh a soldier would never have after their first day of battle. Yet…

 

Mor had seen the scar that ran from temple to eye. She’d seen the unstrung bow slung across the back, the heavy arrows, akin to bolts, hanging from the Illyrian’s side. A soldier with a laugh of delight. A tug at her heart and she felt herself turning around to watch the Illyrian and Feyre laugh together. The conversation had been going on for 10, 15 minutes. It was a party, a gathering to thank the Warlords for their fighting in the war. Every one of them was tense, on-edge, but slowly relaxing as the night went on and alcohol was poured into their systems. The warriors that came for protection purposes had looks of longing every time someone downed a drink in front of them. 

 

Rhys coughed from behind her. “Is it the hair or the blades?”

 

Blades? The purple-haired Illyiarian did have blades. Curved daggers of steel that gleamed in the waning light were strapped to her calves.

 

“The hair.” Mor hummed, hoping Rhys believed…

 

“The only female to have magic anywhere near Devlon’s camp in 5 centuries.” Rhys slid to her side with the same grace he used in battle. “I didn’t even know she existed until after the war. Rumor is, she carved out more than 100 soldiers to get to her brother. She and Cassian would get along very well.”

 

Mor felt a tug on her lip but she fought the urge to grin. “She’s brash and without manners?”

 

“She was an orphan that made friends to survive. Females. Banded together and refused to be clipped, high in the mountains and hiding. Slowly started their own camp of runaways, males and females.” Mor would almost say Rhys looked proud. “They joined Devlon’s camp to help fight in the war.”

 

The party continued on around them with the Illyrian males getting more drunk with each second. “Did they…” Survive? Fight well? Stay together? Mor couldn’t decide which question to ask.

 

“Hasnir saved Devlon’s life. He’s Nyx’s second. Nyx being the one you’ve been watching all night.” The humor in his voice made Mor jump. Feyre didn’t tell him. He didn’t know. She told herself this over and over but it never seemed to calm to urge to flee. 

 

She’d been talking to Rhys for too long; Feyre was heading her way with Nyx at her side. “Mor!” 

 

Mor swallowed as she avoided looking at Nyx in ways that… Her mouth felt dry. 

 

“Mor, meet Nyx. I think you two…” Feyre looked to Rhys with a grin and then back at Mor. “Would get along.”

 

The sparkle in Feyre’s eyes told Mor everything she needed to know, and the confusion in Rhy’s was a delight to behold. Nyx looked at her and smiled and then… it clicked. The tug on her heart became a string, connecting her to Nyx. The Illyrian was short, only 5 foot, but she stood with enough presence that she was taller than Devlon in his smuggest hour. Nyx’s eyes widened. 

 

Nyx’s arms were limp at her sides. Mor smiled and attempted to speak down that bond.

 

_Hi._

 

Nyx grinned in return.

 

_Hey. Want to go for dinner after this? Tell each other our stories?_

 

_I’d love to._

* * *

* * *

 

Wind stabbed through Nyx, pushing her further into the mountains in an attempt to find shelter. The people following her depended on the shelter . She’d lived in the cold her whole life, she knew how to survive. Hasnir though… he’d been born almost noble. His hands were soft from reading in libraries and his eyes lacked the Illyrian desire for fight and blood. He would never survive the ice forming on his eyelashes or the wind that ripped the breath from his chest. He’d never survive. His little sister, smaller than most, was barely past her first bleed. She didn’t know how to face the cold anymore than her elder brother. 

 

The mountains shielded them from the wind, blocked the worst from reaching them. Nyx made a head count once there was no movement beyond the trees. Three. They’d lost three to the cold. She went to get them but felt a hand on her shoulder. Mineor, the eldest among them, shook their head. They weren’t about to let her go. She stared at Mineor, waiting for that hand to move. Waiting to be allowed to try and get their companions. Minutes, precious minutes that left their companions in the freezing cold ticked by. Slowly, the wrinkled hand moved from Nyx’s shoulder and then Nyx was off, her wings felt frozen but she managed to launch herself into the air, hoping the Illyrian leathers, stolen and well-worn, would keep her warm enough to find them. 

 

She pushed herself beyond the treeline, the frozen land beyond barren by wind and cold. They were almost to the tree line, not quite able to read; and they were surrounded. Nyx dived. Mineor knew. Had probably seen it happening and they hadn’t stopped it because they thought it was futile. Leave some to die so the rest may live. Nyx refused. They landed in the snow and ice, puffs of white flurries blocking the Illyrian male’s eyes for a brief moment. The moment was long enough that Nyx took one down with the knife in her boot. Two left when the snow settled and the three women were sprinting for the higher slope of the mountain, into the trees. The males looked at them with a sneer then back at Nyx. If Nyx failed…

 

Nyx let out a howl and lunged. Mineor was a leader, a faithful companion, a trusted friend that would lead the others to safety. If Nyx went down, she would take these two with her to the great beyond. The first cut was hers, a swipe that left a blood streak across the left Illyrian’s bicep. These were trained soldiers, and she knew they wouldn’t let her get any more surprise attacks. She lunged again and then cried out, rolling to the side to avoid losing her eye. A blade has sliced her temple into a bloody mess. She couldn’t see out of her right eye. The Illyrians were in battle stances and daring her to attack. She threw herself at them again and again. Get away, she prayed, get away and live to see another day.

 

Another swipe across a chest, another slip across an arm, she wasn’t getting anywhere near their vital parts. They, however, came dangerously close to hers. It was only her small stature and quick reflexes that kept her alive.

 

“Go after the others, I’ll take care of her.” The one that hadn’t spoken got ready to fly away and Nyx betrayed the entire Illyrian people with one flick of her arm. He’d thought his partner had her pinned; he’d left his flank open to attack. She sent a slice down a wing, cleaving through the sensitive membrane until it was neatly cut in two. The flesh dangled from the bone and the warrior howled in rage and pain. The one that had spoken snarled and lunged but she was ready and her sharp knife traveled down his wing. Neither could fly now. 

 

The original one, the first to lose their flight, panted and stood with fire in his eyes. The other breathed harshly, trying to right themselves. Nyx braced as they watched her warily. Then, knowing she’d never win against them, took off into the sky. The Illyrians tossed blades and arrows at her, siphons flashing, trying to bring her back. They howled in rage and pain until she could no longer hear them above the roar of wind and forest. Her depth of field was thrown off and when she went to land, she crashed in a tree. Mineor was there with careful hands and gently disentangled her from the snapping branches. The three she’d saved were there helping carry her to the group. 

 

“You truly are cauldron blessed, Nyx, never let anyone stop you.” The whispers of the old Illyrian made her smile. She fell into blissful sleep.

 

She awoke to a fire and a cave. Without thinking about how they got there, she made a headcount. Everyone was present. Hasnir, Mineor, Azrog, Terran, Fhysaran, she counted them and named them all until Hashnir’s hand appeared in her vision with a bowl of food. It was mush made from the food they’d brought, high in protein and other nutrients. She scarfed it down without thinking twice as to what was within the bowl. Mineor came and sat next to her.

 

“I managed to save your eye, but there will be scaring. It might impede your vision at times, let me know.” Mineor… the healer who had been around 500 years ago and told stories of how to avoid losing limbs and life in battle. Nyx grinned, teeth still covered in mush. “And close your mouth.” Chuckles came from the group of 13. 13 survivors out of the original 27 sat around a fire. 2 were lost in their original escape, 5 on the Tundra, the rest to the Illyrian soldiers chasing them. Most of the people around the fire were women, most had clipped wings and grim faces, and the others were Hasnir and Terran, both young and inexperienced. Mineor… was neither woman nor man, a creature of their own creation who still claimed to be Illyrian even when their wings were a different shape with grayed colors. 

 

Azrog sat on the other side of her and sighed. “2 more lost on the Tundra, our numbers are dwindling. Was this worth it, Nyx? Was the death of so many… truly worth it?” Those eyes turned to her and were as wide as tea cups. “We’ve lost so many.” And then Azrog curled up and cried; she cried for the death of her mother and younger sister, cried for the death of Marie and Myro, and cried for the retched situation they were in now. 

 

“Would you rather be bred to death?” Nyx’s voice was soft but strong, unwavering. “Those lost in escaping knew what would happen and they came anyway. They would rather be die then no longer be free. 

 

Tarren knelt beside Az and turned her into him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Those two, almost like siblings, had been together for a long time.

 

The sobs echoed in the cave as the rest fell silent, each mourning someone in their heart. The fire was not enough to warm the chill in the air. 

 

Mineor sighed. “Let’s sleep… and set up a watch.”

 

“Are we safe here for the night?” Tarren asked the question that had been on everyone’s mind. 

 

“Get some sleep."

 

No one slept well. Nyx tossed and turned. She dreamed of soldiers appearing in the cave entrance, blood dripping from their mouths as they chuckled at the defenseless group.

 

The next morning the wind had died down and the reflection of light off snow blinded them when they stepped outside. 

 

“Stay together. We reach safety once we get over the mountain.” Mineor’s voice rang loud and clear. “The closer to The Night Court’s main city the safer we are.”

 

Everyone nodded in response, following Mineor up the mountain. One step at a time, they pushed through sleet and snow, feeling the wind blow softer than last night. Softer, but the wind was still enough to almost throw them of balance if they weren’t careful. It was a hard trek and the young forced the group to stop every hour to rest. Every stop put Nyx on edge, and she pushed them to continue moving. Mineor and Hasnir would give her looks of frustration. They couldn’t be caught on the mountain, not when so few of them could fly. She felt no remorse on pushing the last two hours without rest.

 

As the sun began to droop, they set up another camp. Forced outside, unable to find shelter, they felt the wind blow through them and the fire sputtered out within minutes of its creation. Mineor tended to the frost bite, warming fingers with just a touch of Illyrian magic. The killing force, tuned into a fine instrument that acted like flames to heat their bodies.

 

“I’m much older than most Warlords. I’ve faced over a thousand years of sorrow and expect to live a thousand more. Do not worry about me, child. I expect you’ll need some magic for that plan of yours.” Mineor had said when they’d found her gathering supplies. Nyx had lied about her reasons behind stealing, but Mineor had laughed and brushed those lies aside as if they had been nothing but paper on a table. They'd known without Nyx’s confession when and where the escape would take place. Then, they’d improved the plan. Adding a bit of illusion, they’d pushed the camp boundaries in the minds eye of the Warlord until there was enough room to run. Nyx would never forget that. 

 

The group huddled for warmth and fell asleep. Nightmares that had plagued them diminished with the distraction of the cold.

 

A myth had circled around camps that the top of the mountain held a place of peace and warmth. It had spread amongst the woman after someone disappeared and hadn’t come back. The body was never found, and the mere thought that someone could be happily away from having their wings clipped pushed those about to bleed to move and those who were mothers to move faster. They all pushed when morning came. Some began to pick up the young, carrying them on their backs and in their arms. Tarren carried Azrog, whispering in her ear so she quit squirming and allowed herself to be carried. She hadn’t been clipped yet, so Nyx was hopeful Az would join her in the sky. 13 walkers became 7. 5 of them were practically children, yet still some were clipped. Every time Nyx saw that scar on one of her people, she felt rage boil in her heart. 

 

In Mineor’s eyes, they were all children. 

 

It did not take the entire day to reach their destination. When the sun was high over the mountain, bearing down on their heads and creating ice in the snow, they stumbled past a tree line into an oasis. Indeed, there was a spot about the size of a camp waiting for them. The trees sheltered it from the wind and the stream that ran down the mountain provided water. The group had brought enough water to last the winter and enough seeds to feed an army in spring and summer. Mineor carried these, always keeping them out of danger. Yet, there were already a few woman there, chatting and laughing. They went silent upon seeing the group, terror shining in their eyes. From what Nyx could see, none could fly. It broke her heart.

 

3 woman were waiting, and one stepped forward with open arms, her grin as wide and as bright as the sun. Azrog ran forward, leaping into her arms and laughed when she was spun. It was her last sister, declared dead over a year ago. Laughter rang out until the end of the day when tents were erected and a burning fire warmed the travelers weary bones. 

 

“My sister.” Murmured Elizael throughout the day, hugging Azrog to her chest whenever possible. Elizael was older than her sibling, and a mother who’d lost her son in childbirth two years ago. She’d resisted becoming pregnant again, daring the Warlord that ran their camp with an iron fist. She’d faced whippings for it, and eventually acted dead so the men would leave her alone. It had been Mineor to declare her be buried with respect. The Warlord had denied that, stating they should just throw her outside the camp and be done with it. Mineor had saved Elizael’s life. The story had been recounted to the others, the newcomers, over dinner. The other two woman had faced similar fates. It seemed that Mineor was responsible for everyone’s safety. The elder shook their head.

 

“I helped those with the will to leave escape, nothing more. They decided their own fates.” The three original woman touched Mineor’s hands that evening, whispering blessings over the callused skin.

 

The winter left and spring came. Plants began to grow and some discovered green thumbs that helped in feeding. Nyx had flown around and begun to pick up live stock to bring back to camp. She wasn’t that strong, but she’d been training to build up her muscles and increase her fighting skills. The others had begun their training as well, working to fight so they wouldn’t have to depend on Nyx to save them. Mineor trained them. 

 

Mineor pushed Nyx to the edge more than once, their shouting matches enough that the world could hear on occasion. “Get in stance. You’re weak. Brace.”

 

Nyx was tossed across the training ring with a simple backhand. “I did brace.”

 

A snort,” Then build up your core muscles, your leg muscles, and brace more. Run around the camp 200 times and see how that does you.”

 

Hasnir laid a hand on her shoulder before stepping up to spar Mineor without a word. He was better at hand to hand combat, but he couldn’t fight with a weapon yet. Mineor banned weapons until they were able to handle a dagger without almost stabbing themselves.

 

“Az, you’re next.” Mineor dodged a punch and quickly returned the favor, knocking Hasnir back. He righted himself before Mineor could take advantage of the lost footing. The others were doing chores, running about and keeping life running. 

 

They needed another trainer. Mineor didn’t say this aloud, but thought it on enough occasions that Nyx could read it on their face. The worry would flash across their grey eyes, their brows would crease at the line of those waiting to train, and still they said nothing. When Nyx and Mineor started training, the others had been surprised. Some cried outrage at the thought, saying that training would make them no better than the camps they had come from. Nyx explained with patience.

 

“If we don’t strengthen ourselves, we might as well declare ourselves bait. If we have no strength, how will we keep ourselves safe if we should be caught?” The others had quieted at that. Azrog, Azrog of all those who had at first protested, had stepped forward with a smile.

 

“Can I use a bow?” Mineor had clapped a hand on Azrog’s shoulder and grinned. 

 

“Of course.”

 

Now they were running out of time. Words had been spreading, the Highlord began talking to the camps about war. Soldiers began to sharpen their already fine blades, and Warlords began to push even the weakest to gather their determination and push to be stronger. The Highlord had been the one to end wing-clipping amongst camps he had access too, pushing the Warlords to the point that they detested him in a way Nyx despised. A man wanted equality amongst Illyrians and for that he was hated. It left a sour taste in her mouth. She was determined to help him survive the coming war, and she would do anything to help the man that pissed off the Warlord that attempted to rape whatever woman he wanted.

 

Nyx slipped out of camp without a word. Everyone was too busy to notice. Hasnir was still fighting Mineor, grunting and panting. Every time he landed a solid hit, Mineor barked at him to hit harder. Eventually, as Nyx moved away, the sound of life from the camp diminished until there was nothing but howling wind in her ears. No matter the season, wind whipped through the mountain. Nyx adjusted the pack on her back to block the downward wind, hoping her coat made last spring would be enough.

 

Down the mountain Nyx went, following the path they’d taken up until they reached a dying camp with few Illyrians. They were moving, buildings and tents had been taken down and all that was left was the training ring and a few soldiers moving the remnants of supplies. Nyx avoided the camp and moved on, ducking around the camp’s still erect southern edge and continued towards the Court of Nightmares. The person she sought lived there, had a camp near there, and would be the best option for what she sought.

 

Seven days. Nyx spent 7 days searching. She’d only brought warm leathers and her daggers to defend herself. Her forging skills increased, her arrows always found their target, and she came closer and closer to Velaris. Training by forced survival made her hands steadier and her heart beat quiet in the face of danger. Mineor would be proud. Another day was spent trying to determine where she’d managed to lose herself. The mountains all looked the same and 7 days meant she was as lost as a bunny rabbit in snow. 

 

Finally, she noticed a mountain with a hole in the rock. Grinning, she climbed. Her limbs were cold, stiff, but she was stubborn enough that the burning could be ignored until she found herself facing a city. It was bustling, with children laughing and the warmth of an ocean breeze hitting her skin. Where was she? She slowly made her way into the streets. It wasn’t until the people began giving her odd looks that she realized she didn’t quite fit in amongst these people. She was Illyrian and they were fae. She was covered in snow and ice, dirt and grime. 

 

A woman approached her when the sun began to set. She was chubby, with bright eyes and a knowing smile. Nyx was reminded of Elizael in that moment and paused, watching as the fae pulled close.

 

“Not from around here dear? Would you like a meal and a place to sleep?” Nyx would not look at a gift and deny it, she wasn’t lucky enough to get many gifts.

 

“Thank you.”

 

When morning came and breakfast was made, she realized she’d never tasted food quite as delicious and felt a bed quite as comfortable as what this fae woman offered. The woman was still smiling, and when Nyx hesitated to take what she offered, she gently pushed it into Nyx’s arms. Again, Nyx would not deny a gift. When breakfast had been eaten, the two sat in silence.

 

“Do you know where I am?” The woman blinked at her, surprise stealing over her features until she huffed out a laugh.

 

“Welcome to Velaris. The Court of Dreams. I suspect you weren’t trying to come to our home.” The woman began to clear the dishes, taking Nyx’s empty plate before a protest could be offered. 

 

“No, I was… searching for something else.” Darkness began to claw its way towards her heart, “ I was searching for the Court of Nightmares. I… need to find someone.”

 

The woman was quiet for sometime, watching Nyx in a way that the darkness squirm, stealing breath from her lungs.

 

“I’ll get you a map."

 

War was coming, she could feel it under her skin every time she’d passed a camp. Illyrians had been flying everywhere, shipping supplies and fighting harder in the ring than they had ever before. Knives and blades and arrows were being sharpened, leathers being made, and all Nyx wanted was to find Devlon. Where was Devlon’s camp? She’d checked nearly all of the camps she’d come across and all the WarLords had been those of the less-friendly-towards-females variety. 

 

Another 3 days passed before she was at the footsteps of the mountain holding the nightmares that the world thought of as the Night Court. Flying lead her to the camp of her dreams. Illyrians were working, fighting, and practicing until two people flashed into existence. A broad-shouldered male began to fight another the street while the rest of the Illyrians were taking off and flying above the camp with women and children in their arms. Nyx didn’t question this and simply joined those flying, hoping she’d gone unnoticed. The fighting continued for 2 hours, until both males were worn and bleeding. The Illyrians began to descend, grunting in dissatisfaction at being held in place so long. When they finally touched down, Nyx felt an ache in her wings. She’d never flown in a hover for 2 hours. Still, it had been good practice and she appreciated that everyone was too distracted by the men fighting to notice a single female join their ranks. 

 

Everyone dispersed the instant they hit the ground, some returning to training while others went about to do chores. Nyx spotted Devlon returning to watch the fighters. She slipped into his home and waited. 

 

The day passed and Nyx took a well deserved rest, enjoying the feeling of laying down, even if it was on cold stone. As the sun began to set, Devlon entered and Nyx hid in the shadows. 

 

“No one has ever tried to assassinate me and lived to tell the tale.” Devon looks directly at her. “And you’re a lousy assassin.”

 

Her heart jumped in her chest. “I’m not an assassin.” She steps into the light, posture indicating she was ready to fight if the need arose. Devlon smirked.

 

“What? Not satisfied with your chore-…” He stopped and looked at her hair, purple like magic flame. “You’re not from my camp.” He watched her every movement, monitored her breathing as it increased rapidly. “Who are you?”

 

For someone who found a stranger in their home, he was oddly calm. “I’m Nyx.” 

 

His face was a mask of calm. “And why have you snuck into my house?”

 

Nyx took deep breath and began to explain. 

 

An hour later, Devlon had sat her at his kitchen table, a bowl of mush in front off her. “You ran off with a bunch of women, some clipped and some not, so you could train?”

 

“Well it’s a little more complicated, but yes.” Nyx ate without protesting. Devlon was watching her, eyeing her like an Illyrian eyes the battlefield. There were stories of Devlon, a harsh war-lord who respected you as long as you fought like 10 men. A warrior unmatched amongst his fellow Warlords. The only Warlord that allows women to train without destroying them mentally, even if it was at the request of his Highlord and General. 

 

“Why should I train you? Why shouldn’t I just send warriors to that mountain and force you all back?” His facial expression hadn’t changed, it was still calculating and processing.

 

“Because war is coming. And you need all the soldiers you can get.” Nyx met his eyes, not backing down and not flinching. He laughed. 

 

“I see you’ve been listening to the High-Lord and his General. Very well. I’ll train you. But on my terms. And Mineor joins my warriors as a healer.”

 

“That’s up to Mineor.” Nyx almost regretted those words as he leaned against the table and brought his face close enough that she could smell his breath and see the shine of his teeth in his sneer.

 

“I make the rules in this arrangement. You dealt your hand too early and now you have to listen to me. Get out.” He turned on his heel and headed upstairs, the click of his boots reminding her to feel scared of her predicament. She had dealt her hand. She’d fed him all the information she needed and hadn’t even made a deal until afterwards. She’d been naive, convinced he’d help. 

 

She managed not to drag her wings on the way out. The sun was gone, the warmth of magic laid over the camp and she sighed. She needed to find a place to sleep.

 

The next morning, Devlon was found her sleeping at the edge of camp and kicked her awake. “Take me.”

 

She didn’t protest and quickly readied to move. Devlon took to the sky before she could say any more and forced her to follow him to the Illyrian mountains until he wasn’t sure where to go and she had to take the lead. When she neared her camp, she landed so as to not scare them by landing in the middle of them. Devlon growled at being forced to walk, but allowed it anyway. 

 

When she stepped past the tree line, Mineor was making a meal and the rest were sitting around the fire and laughing. Azrog was the first to notice Nyx, giving a grin. When she spied the man behind Nyx, the happiness slowly fled from her face and left her pale. Elizael noticed, turning to see what Az as looking at before she took the plates. Her ferocity, however, had her standing and walking over rather than flinching and saying back, dishes left to sit by the fire.

 

“I see you brought a guest.”

 

Nyx felt like flinching at the anger behind those words. “I brought us a trainer.”

 

Now Mineor approached, quiet and reserved. They gently pulled Elizael behind them. “Devlon.”

 

“Mineor.” The two stared at one another. Devlon had the height, but Mineor the ferocity in their stare. Nyx was pulled aside by those who had finally approached. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hasnir hissed. “We fight to be safe and you bring a WARLORD to our camp?”

 

Hasnir recognized Devlon and Nyx felt her stomach tie itself up in knots. 

 

“I did what I had to. War is coming, if you hadn’t noticed, and we must defend ourselves. I will defend those around me with every bone in my body and every breath from my lungs. Perhaps you should consider doing the same for your sister.” Nyx ripped her arm out of Hasnir’s hand that had grasped her. 

 

“Don’t you dare.” Hasnir’s growled at her. “I’m fighting to get better, but I’m not lying in the bed of my enemies.”

 

Mineor grabbed Nyx’s shoulder and spun her before Hasnir could fight her tooth and nail.  “Explain.”

 

Devlon was inspecting their training ring, growling at any one who neared him. Nyx explained as he stepped inside and began flinging about their weapons, hand-made ones from Elizael who’d learned to mold metal. They weren’t amazing, but they held up in a fight. Azrog had learned to sharpen them, delighting in pushing arrows until they were as sharp as they were fragile. Every arrows she touched, however, seemed to work for the user and hit the target in the most efficient manner. 

 

“You made these?” He looked at the women around the camp. Elizael stepped forward.

 

“I did, yes. Why?” Her head was held high, her cheeks flushed with something Nyx might call fury. Devlon leveled a look at her that made Nyx want to shrink. Elizael didn’t back down.

 

“I need a blacksmith. Our current one was taken by our HighLord.” Devlon flipped a blade around in his hand, his grace putting Nyx on edge. Elizael blinked.

 

“Do you not have a better smith in your camp?” She tilted her head, approaching the Warlord with small footsteps, barely coming closer. “Someone who’s only worked with raw metal might not be your best bet for the coming war.”

 

It was Devlon’s turn to blink. “You used raw metal?”

 

Mineor snarled. “It’s not like we could go to the camps and ask for refined metal, metal without impurities that wouldn’t break after we fought them to stay free. Of course we used raw metal.” Surrounded in this camp by women, Devlon didn’t break a sweat or feel insecure in his position. Even if they all attacked him, Nyx had the feeling he would take them all. 

 

“Show me your forge.” The command was barked, followed with a cruel smile. He knew they were in no position to fight him. Elizael led the way. The forge was small, built from materials they stole from camps and the woods around them. A cave nearby proved to be useful for iron ore veins. Only Elizael had learned to use the makeshift hammer and anvil. The grinding wheel nearby was also made using unusual materials. Devlon hummed. “You made those weapons using one of the worst forges I’ve ever seen.” 

 

Elizael growled at him. “Are you done making fun of us?” 

 

Devlon tilted his head and watched Elizael’s stance and blinked. “You’re coming to my camp to be a blacksmith.”

 

“Like hell she is.” Azrog got right in Devlon’s face. “Don’t you touch my sister.”

 

A huff came from Mineor as they approached the situation. “If any of us come to your camp, we could be locked up. Why should we leave when we could easily just continue our existence here?”

 

“Because if you’re going to train properly you need proper weapons and a proper training ring.” Devon’s stance was one with squared shoulders that breathed power into the environment. It leaked from him and his siphons. 3 of them glittered in the light and Nyx had a feeling that someone was going to get hurt if they denied him.

 

“Can you guarantee our safety?” Nyx muttered from her spot that was far away from the forge. All the Illyrians turned to look at her and Hasnir hissed in her ear. 

 

Devlon nodded his head. It was the best they were going to get. Nyx now just had to convince her family… when had she thought of them as family? This was her family. That word thrummed in her veins. Elizael and her fire, Azrog and her meekness that turned into protective instincts, Mineor and their calming touch… Hasnir and his sister who were as thick as thieves. Tarren would burn the world down for those whom he loved. These people… Nyx would fight Devlon for them if he put them in harms way.

 

“If you hurt them, Devlon, I will personally rip out your throat.” Nyx growled as she slowly walked up to him. When she was 2 feet from him, she hissed. “That will be after stripping down your wings until they’re nothing but useless bone.” Her adversary had the common sense to look scared for a second before he was smirking again.

 

“I’d like to see you try.” His stance hadn’t changed much, but a shift of his feet put him into a more defensive position. Nyx nodded.

 

The others all looked to Mineor and Nyx, and when Mineor placed a hand on Nyx’s shoulder they all knew. It was time to move. They dispersed and began packing, shoving Devlon this way and that despite his constant snarling. He picked up the weapons and began to flip them over and over, studying their make while deciding he should stay out of the way.

 

It took the rest of the day, but eventually they were packed and ready to go. “How many of you can fly?” He looked between them. Mineor, Hasnir, Azrog, Nyx, and Tarren had definite flight abilities. Fhysaran and Henna hadn’t trained but could carry themselves if they carried nothing else. The rest were either clipped or didn’t have the strength to carry even themselves off the ground. Devlon grunted. “Those who can fly and carry, start to head to camp. We’ll make trips.” He grabbed three packs off the ground and flew. Mineor, Hasnir, and Tarren took off immediately, each carrying supplies as heavy as an Illyrian in full armor. Nyx noticed Azrog stay and paused.

 

“Az?” Nyx approached the young one only to see that Az was grabbing the arrows and bows she’d pain stakingly crafted. “We’ll get better weapons.”

 

“Nothing is better than this wood. I’ve yet to find something as durable and flexible. The arrows are magically embued with killing power that I carefully poured into them.” Az grunted and shoved things onto her back. “I have some and figured that letting it leak into my weapons was better than asking you to find a siphon.”

 

Nyx was stunned and waited a few seconds to see if Azrog was joking. When she decided that the young Illyrian wasn’t joking but speaking with her whole heart… Nyx helped carry the bows and arrows. The flight was half a day if you know where you were going. They had Devlon to follow, and quickly caught up with the group who were carrying heavier items. 

 

“You’ll get better weapons.” Devlon spied them and grunted. 

 

Azrog kept quiet but shifted the weapons to indicate that she wasn’t about to put them down. 

 

Again and again they flew back and forth until all their supplies were in Devlon’s camp in front of his home. The camp didn’t question their Warlord and continued about their daily lives. It took a week, but when every thing was in a pile, they began bringing people. Azrog was not strong enough to carry a person and simply stayed to sort through their equipment and set up a space for the 16 of them to live. 

 

Azrog quickly found out the that Illyrians of the camp disliked a woman doing such a thing.

 

“Why aren’t you doing your chores, eh?” One man sneered at her, and 6 others slowly circled her. She felt an arrow make its way into her hand out of instinct. She shook and willed her blood to slow, to not make her heart beat so fast and let her attackers know she was scared. “Think you can take us?”

 

While Mineor had trained Azrog to use a bow, they’d also taught Az to use arrows as close range weapons. A bow wasn’t always going to keep people away, and Az had to be ready to get up close and personal. She felt the cold reality of fighting sink into her feet to brace. Then, she struck. She would never be as good as Nyx, as strong as Mineor, as subtle as Hasnir, or as confident as Elizael. But she was quick, faster than any of her family, and she knew how back off when she’d slowed her adversaries. 

 

The Illyrian closest to her howled as she sliced his arm almost in two. Then, backpedaling, she disappeared into Devlon’s house. The door closed and locked behind her, blocking her inside. The males outside were shouting at her, growling, and she heard the injured one walk away. She waited, listening, scared to come out even when she heard the rest move off. They refused to break into Devlon’s home out of respect for their Warlord. She breathed a sigh of relief, then opened the door and began doing the sorting again.

 

By the time everyone was back and had sorted the supplies, they began to do the jobs Devlon gave them. Even with the lot of them resisting and biting at his orders, they followed. They were in his world now, and began to tread with light feet.

 

“I heard you sliced an arm of an attacker.” Devlon appraised Azrog with a neutral face.

 

“I did.”

 

He paused and looked her up and down, seeming to assess if she was telling the truth. “Head to the archery range.” Devlon turned and left.

 

Time didn’t wait for them, and after a quick announcement to the camp that Devlon would sever the private parts off anyone that touched one of them, the group turned to working. They lived besides one another, never leaving without eating together and laughing about the day’s struggles. Nyx was pushed to the brink by the males of the camp, and Hasnir was teased relentlessly. Elizael was worked to the bone to produce and learn weapons. They were together, however, and after dinner they slept knowing they were safe.

 

Then the call for war came and Devlon came to them with a single order. “Get ready, line up, and don’t say a word.”

 

16 of them. 16 before the battle, and by god if they had any choice in the matter, 16 would come out. Elizael and other non-flyers were non-combatants, given jobs of healing, foraging, forging, and pushing the troops to move in sync. That left 6 to take to the skies and fight along side their Illyrian brothers.

 

They all waited until every other Illyrian was in the sky before looking to one another. Life wasn’t forever, and Nyx knew they wouldn’t all be together in the end. The 6 flyers nodded and took off. Nyx, Azrog, Henna, Hasnir, Tarren, and  Fhysaran had been trained to the point of breaking. Flight skills were slammed into their bodies, weapons had been forced into their hands, and now they flew beside the army as a smaller unit. An infiltration unit, as Devlon has stated, those that scouted out the sights and guessed as to what was going on. 

 

Suicide runners was the colloquial term. 

 

Devlon nodded at them as the General directed them to the Autumn court. His eyes lingered over Azrog the longest and Azrog returned his look with a nod and a flash of a smile. 

 

The camp they set up ran like a well-oiled machine. There were no jibs, no bullying once war began. Soldiers and healers were respected. Anyone willing to face battle to protect loved ones was thought of as a brother in war. As the six sat around a fire, Devlon approached them.

 

In his hands were six siphons. “You’ll need these.” He eyed Azrog. “And you, you’ll need this.”

 

He was gentle, a surprise in Nyx’s eyes, and turned over Azrogs hands to attach a smaller siphon to the leather. “Push the energy through your hand to your arrows.” Azrog gave a nod in return and the two kept eye contact for a few seconds before he turned and left. Azrog’s second siphon was attached to her forearm on her shield arm. 

 

Hasnir placed a hand on Azrog’s shoulder for a few seconds before turning and helping his sister attach her siphon. Henna murmured to her brother, whispering her fears, and he soothed them with a hand and soft words of victory. The intimacy of siblings was something to behold, and Nyx worried if one of them should fall… Tarren coughed, and Nyx turned away to meet his eyes. His siphon was also on his shield arm, and his eyes were soft with worry.

 

“Ready for tomorrow?” Everyone looked to Nyx and nodded. “Then let’s sleep.”

 

The battle had them separated for too long. Nyx was slamming shield and dagger into her opponents, blood covering her hands and making them slick. It became harder to keep a hold on her weapons. Henna was at her side, firing arrows into the crowd of Hybern soldiers with a grim look. Nyx was her shield, the one between her and those wielding blades of steel. Nyx grit her teeth and renewed her attack when they pushed her against the fronts of the soldiers in the second row. 

 

Where was Hasnir and the others? Tarren must be with Azrog, those two never seperated when training or in battle. Was Hasnir with Fhysaran? A cry came from their left, and the General began charging through enemy lines. Nyx, emboldened, pushed back and began to sink her dagger into every soft spot she came across. 

 

Henna was screaming something, someone’s name. “Fhysaran! Saran! Saran!” She flipped to be above their attackers heads and flew, dodging arrows and magic, until she was out of Nyx’s sight. Nyx couldn’t take off, her wings were pinned, she was trapped. A soldier behind her grabbed her and tossed her into the sky, shouting. “Get your archer back here.”

 

Nyx spotted what Henna had been distracted by. Saran was on the edge of the battlefield, lying down. Her wings flattened against her back. Growling, Nyx dive bombed soldiers before careening upward and dive-bombing again. With each run, she was making her way to Saran. The battle raged, but it was a slaughter at this point. Hybern soldiers fell quickly, and she landed by Saran and knew the battle wouldn’t last much longer.

 

Henna’s siphon flashed and she glanced wild eyes at Nyx. “Save her.” Nyx grabbed Saran and took off for the trauma center. Her wings felt something touch them, but she didn’t stop until she was in front of Mineor with a look of desperation. Mineor took Fhysaran and set to work. By the time Nyx was back at the field, the battle was over and Henna was breathing with her hands on her knees, gasping for the air to prevent panic. A soldier slapped a hand on her back. “First one’s always the toughest.”

 

He walked off without another word. 

 

Nyx helped Henna back to the camp.

 

The next battle did not go as well. Fhysaran had only some color back, but her breathing not stable enough to re-enter battle. The rest exchanged looks. They were determined to stay together this time. Henna touched her brother’s cheek and he returned the touch. A nod passed between the two of them. Devlon passed by them and stopped to bark an order before continuing on his way. “Get in formation.”

 

As one, they rose into the sky. This time, Hybern had the upper hand and they lost more people. Nyx batted arrows out of the sky as Hasnir and Azrog made arrows hit their marks. Each arrow that flew from their hands struck its intended target, taking down another soldier if the mark was debilitating. Azrog’s arrows never failed.  Henna helped by shielding any soldier within her range. They appeared to appreciate it and fought twice as hard. When they ran out of arrows and their siphons dulled, they landed and still fought. Devlon was by their side.

 

Halfway through the battle, Tarren joined them and his siphon glowed bright enough for them to know he had saved it for this moment: For them to have not fight with sword and shield alone. 

 

The battle ended with a staggering loss on their side. A quarter of their soldiers lay dead on the field. Nyx and Hasnir dragged Tarren from the battle field, his arms slung across their shoulders. Henna limped off with Azrog’s help.

 

Devlon nodded at them when he passed them carrying their companions. “Well done. Report to medical then scout the southern perimeter.”

 

They did as they were told. 

 

Time marched forward. Each time one of them was injured, the others stepped in and formed a barrier. They fought and fought and fought, they bled and begged each other to stay close. When they stepped back into camp, they pulled into their tent and slept with abandon. Even their non-combatant friends left them alone. 

 

The final battle was nearing and Nyx felt a vibration in her bones. It was coming, death or life. The final decision to be made on the battle field. She swallowed down food as if it would be the last meal she would ever had. 

* * *

 

A fire crackled.

 

“I’m scared.” Azrog curled in a ball and wept. “I’m so scared.”

 

Henna’s arms were immediately around Azrog’s shoulders. “I know.”

 

Then Tarren joined, his hands on their backs. Hasnir and Nyx watched.

 

Devlon joined them the day before the final battle and waited for them to separate. “Azrog. Follow me.”

 

Tarren growled. 

 

“Calm down. I’m getting Az another siphon.” Azrog followed without question and Nyx had to wonder about the irony of it all. The one to hate battle the most had the most killing force to carve and use. Hasnir must have sensed Nyx’s thoughts.

 

“Thought you would be the one to have more than one siphon.” He smiled and Tarren nodded.

 

Fhysaran muttered under her breath. “None of us should have siphons, but here we are.” Then she whipped her head around. “Wait, what did he call Az?”

 

Henna’s eyes went wide. “He called her Az.”

 

They slept uneasily that night when Az rejoined them with a small siphon on the back of their other hand. 

* * *

 

The air smelled of steel, sweat, and blood. They were outnumbered 20 to 1 if Nyx could make an accurate estimation. Henna was no where to be seen and Hasnir was fighting in the skies above her. All around her, her brothers were falling dead. Their wings crumpled beneath foot and blade. The Hybern soldiers stepped over their bodies without remorse and grinned at their flanks. 

 

Static was in the air. Nyx felt it enough that she shook her head and was distracted. Something was going to happen. Hasnir screamed. The world slowed and when Nyx looked, her sword barely blocking a killing blow, she saw a spear going through her friend. He was hovering in front of Devlon for two seconds before plummeting to the ground.

 

“Hasnir!” She screamed and her siphon wasn’t enough to contain her rage. She felt it bubbling over and all around her the world turned red. Hybern soldiers flew away, tossed like rag dolls before her. the other soldiers filled in the gap she left, not questioning her sudden drive into the forces that could kill her. Darkness squirmed in her skin, whispering in her ear. 

 

She felt pulses come from her hands and realized she was using her siphon as a weapon, carving through soldiers by blasting them with pure energy. The darkness spurred her further, encouraging her to destroy and maim her enemies. Then, the scent of magic filled the air and she looked up to see the cauldron moving. She needed to go quicker. Her family. Her family. Her family. Family blasted through her head again and again and she screamed then took off, throwing more soldiers aside before diving down to get to Hasnir. He was barely breathing. The Hybern soldiers were ignoring him, moving forward to replace their fallen comrades. 

 

When Nyx landed, she felt calm. Cool ice filled her veins and the darkness laughed. It seeped from her into the soil and she sighed. The pressure that had been building in her heart was released as her siphon flashed and blistered all soldiers within 10 feet of her. 

 

Hasnir was in her arms and they were gone by the time the Cauldron tipped and destroyed their entire legion. Devlon had met her on the edge of the legion and his eyes widened as he witnessed 1000 of his people wiped off without so much vas a scream. He growled. “Get him out of here.”

 

Nyx didn’t remember the rest of the battle. She remembered movement in her legs, her arms, her wings, but it was more of a distant memory that she could claw at and try to get to, but never would. It sat at the edge of her mind and taunted her with a smile. She awoke in a tent beside her companions and notice Fhysaran was missing. 

 

She crawled past Henna, who was curled up around Azrog, and stepped over Tarren to notice the sky was dark and Mineor was sitting at the fire, blood on their hands.

 

“I couldn’t save them.” Mineor’s eyes sent shivers down Nyx’s spine.

 

“Is…” She choked. There was a reason their friend wasn’t in the tent.

 

“Bled to death before I could do anything. Hybern soldiers managed to chop her wings off.” Mineor’s hands were before the fire, and Nyx almost believed that Mineor was tempted to plunge those precious hands, healers hands, into the fire to rid them of Fhysaran’s scent. “She was crying. Begging me to save Hasnir instead. He was lying beside her, pale as the moon, unconscious. She begged. If I’d stayed with her longer, maybe I would have saved her. But… Hasnir was slipping and I..” Mineor’s eyes were glazed over. “I couldn’t deny a dying woman’s last wish.”

 

Nyx didn’t sit but stood and watched the fire. “It was suicide to ask that of you.”

 

“She didn’t have her wings.” Mineor’s eyes didn’t move. “She’d tasted the sky.”

 

Nyx didn’t fight and allowed herself to break. She curled up on the ground and cried.

* * *

 

Azrog woke to Devlon’s hand upon her shoulder. She didn’t know why, but he was… intriguing to her. A Warlord had caught her attention, whatever would she do. He’d have her clipped, he’d take away her freedom. He’d take away her family… he’d...

 

“I’m not taking away anything.” He tilted his head and offered her his hand. She followed him to the edge of the camp and watched the winter soldiers move with ease. “I will not take your freedom.”

 

They sat in silence until she offered him a snack from her pack and his eyes connected with hers. She held it up for a minute before nodding, her hand extending until the snack was nearly touching his chest. He took the bar of venison and bit off a chunk. They’re eye contact didn’t break.

 

He respected those that fought like 10 soldiers, and he desired to keep someone around that would destroy the world to protect their family.

* * *

 

The party came afterward and Nyx was dragged behind Hasnir and Azrog, both of whom were happy just to have no more blood to shed. Her High Lady, the High Lady herself, approached each of them in turn. There were thanks, asking about what they were doing in the war, etc. Nya’s heart thudded in her chest. 

 

Then, she saw her. A woman with hair like gold and lips ruby red. Black silk clung to her body, showing each curve and exactly what Nyx could take advantage of if she so desired. Her heart skipped a beat and Feyre followed her gaze. There must have been something in Nyx’s eyes because the High Lady smirked at Nyx. 

 

“See something you like?” Feyre’s voice was that of the General for all of two seconds before she shoved Nyx in the woman’s direction. “Let’s introduce you two."

 

 


	2. Life Always Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dinner, and learning Nyx's story, Mor has to face the future

_**It only takes a second to make a decision. -HMH** _

* * *

 

Cassian caught them training. He was impressed, to say the least, that the poor Illyrian was keeping up with Mor. Only recently battle-tested, she should be far behind the others being trained. Still, Mor insisted she be the teacher and he aqcuiencesd at the look in the eyes of his friend. Something like a threat had laid inside her iris, squirming at the mere thought of Cassian training Nyx. He knew when he would lose, and he graciously bowed out without commenting on Mor’s overprotectiveness. 

 

Rhys and Azriel had noticed as well. Mor and Nyx had been dancing around one another since the end of the war party. Feyre had discouraged Rhys from asking, and Rhys — in return — warned his brothers against breaking Feyre’s wishes. Something about losing some parts of their anatomy had been involved in the threat, and the three men knew it was serious and took the threat literally. 

 

He grunted when he saw a swing going towards Nyx’s head that was only caught at the last second. Mor was much quicker, and therefore had an advantage in any fight. 

 

Mor gasped and Cassian straightened, looking to see what had caused the reaction. A fist was in Mor’s side, holding steady as if it hadn’t slammed into the ribs just an inch away. In a flash in insight, Cassian grinned. Perhaps Mor had found her match, as it seemed Nyx had purposefully caught the fist last minute to distract from the counter attack. Smart kid.

 

If Mor was trying her best the tactic wouldn’t have worked, but she was distracted.

 

Mor murmured beneath her breath about silly distractions and cheating. Nyx must have heard because there is laughter in that lovely bond. It sends a tickle from Mor’s head to her toes. No wonder Feyre and Rhys always talked in their heads.

 

Hot, sweaty, and worn out from their time training, the two laugh and pull themselves towards the showers. Mor notices Cassian out of the corner of her eye and nods an acknowledgement. 

 

“Eventually, you’ll have to tell them.” Nyx’s voice is soft against Mor’s skin, her mouth so close to Mor's cheek. Mor flushed with something new, something outside of battling, and she was ready to smack Nyx for it. 

 

“I will.” They both knew it would be Nyx’s pushing that would force Mor into it. Mor was too afraid, worried about what her brothers would think of her. Feyre, sweet and accepting Feyre, knew Mor’s mind and had pushed. But Feyre was not Mor’s mate, and their friendship was still growing. 

 

Nyx left to clean up alone, and Mor felt cold. 

 

She showered and slung open her wardrobe, letting her towel fall so the cold air of day could caress her skin. She huffed. Today was a day to feel good, to let her clothes warm her mind, so she reached for a little black dress with a slit in the side that never failed to pick her up. 

 

Mor thought back to that first night of laughter and tears. Nyx’s story had moved Mor, had made Mor clutch at her chest and cry for her mate, and Mor’s story had moved Nyx to pull Mor into an embrace. Already, they were already so close without even knowing each other beyond their stories. 

 

Mor insisted they train together, get to know one another, and Nyx had happily agreed. After all, Hasnir and Azrog had enough free time to push Nyx out and towards Mor… and Feyre had enough free time to make sure Mor was pushed towards Nyx. With nothing to do but be together, it had been all too easy to fall into the momentum built from that first night. 

 

Mor offered a smile to the breakfast table and slid into her seat with only a small reaction offered by Rhys. Amren, always herself, snorted at her. “If you’re going to fight, at least try not to make it obvious.” Feyre’s pointed look did not stop Amren. “And please, I don’t need more of you stinking up the place. Get it together.”

 

Rhys and the other men exchanged glances and Mor had the distinct feeling their curiosity was the only thing that kept them from piping up against Amren. Cauldron blast them. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mor dug into her food, cutting off Amren before more words could cut at her heart. Amen grunted, acknowledging Mor’s attempt to end things, and ate herself. Her taste in food was still raw meat, blood in almost everything, but she was willing to eat normal things at breakfast time to prevent the others from complaining. 

 

Breakfast felt slow. It stretched on until Mor was done and she rapidly pushed herself up and away from the table. Rhys braced, ready to follow, but he was still and Mor knew that Feyre, precious Feyre, was being the friend Mor needed. 

 

Nyx was standing on the bridge of the river, laughing as some fae woman held her stomach with one hand while the other hovered above her lips. Mor’s gut clenched. Heat filled her, the heat of anger and it took several seconds of brooding to bring that emotion inwards until it was nothing but a smoldering ember. Her smile felt sharp, but she kept it as she walked towards her mate and the fae woman.

 

There must have been something in her eyes because the fae woman spotted her and gulped, causing Nyx to turn and spy what has distracted the woman. Rather than noticing what the fae woman had in Mor’s eyes, Nyx see’s Mor as a whole and grins. The ember turned into nothing more than ash in Mor's mouth. 

 

“Hey.” Nyx offers a hand, like a chivalrous gentlemen, and Mor takes it without hesitating. How could she have been mad? Nyx had only spoken the truth. In her brief time with Nyx, Mor knew her mate would never lie. 

 

The more time Mor spent with Nyx, the more she could see how Rhys had been frantic without even properly meeting his mate outside of being Under the Mountain. Every second felt like a lifetime worth living. 

 

Nyx’s calloused hands were so gentle with Mor’s hands, their fingers sliding together naturally. The idea of being secretive, of hiding that this Illyrian was hers, slipped from her mind.

 

The fae woman was bright red. “H-… I think I’ll go.” Her hurried scramble away made Nyx blink, and Mor suppressed a snicker. 

 

The light of the sun danced on the water, and Nyx nuzzled Mor’s shoulder. “You scared her away. I saw you.”

 

Her observant mate. Mor hummed and pushed Nyx’s head away with her free hand. “Would you like to go to dinner?”

 

“With you? Always.” Nyx was a soft soul, Mor had noticed, and it made her heart catch every time they walked through the Rainbow together. Watching someone who had never seen art have their eyes opened to an entire world was an honor Mor would always cherish. 

 

They passed the Rainbow now, hands swinging in the warm breeze of the sea, and Mor sighed. The dress she was wearing was not built for this type of day.

 

They passed by Rita’s, a party going on with music that made the entire street swing, and Mor leaned into Nyx a little more. Nyx didn’t want to go into Rita’s, and when they had their first dinner it had been in a small place with a delightful fae woman who was round and friendly as their chef. 

 

“Why don’t you like Rita’s again?” Mor murmured as their strolling brought them closer to the humble restaurant of their first dinner. 

 

“I don’t like crowded places.” Nyx had tensed against Mor, her body turning into steel. Mor did not comment, but did pull Nyx closer.

 

The evening passed with Nyx being more and more affectionate as the night went on. It wasn’t from alcohol, as Nyx did not drink, and it felt genuine enough that Mor was blushing in a way she hoped to the cauldron Rhys never saw. 

 

It wasn’t Rhys that spotted them, and it was not Mor that noticed their stalker. Behind them was Azriel, easily seen if you knew what to look for. Nyx distracted Mor with vigor, wishing the woman would never notice and feel panic from being discovered. Mor deserved the world, and Nyx would be damned if it was Mor’s own family that made her uncomfortable. 

 

Azriel followed them from dinner to the House of Wind, where Nyx dropped off Mor with a peck on the cheek and received a hand caress in return. Azriel was still behind them, watching, and Nyx wondered if Mor figured it out.

 

Mor had not noticed Azriel. She’d been so distracted by her mate, her beautiful mate, that the evening had passed in a blur of laughter and warmth, the cold driven away by Nyx’s jokes and twinkling eyes. The shadow singer did, however, attract her attention once she was getting ready for bed.

 

“Mor.” Mor spun and noticed Az in the corner. His shadows curled around him, almost kissing the air, and she raised a brow. 

 

The conversation was not a good one. Az’s questions put Mor on edge, made her testy, and by the time she could escape, she was frantic to get to Feyre or Nyx. Or be alone. She wasn’t Illyrian, she didn’t have wings, but she knew who would take her to the skies if she asked. 

 

Nyx was waiting for her before she even asked. She was in night clothes, too thin for the cold air they would be moving through, but she needed to escape and her mate was here with open arms. Mor had barely touched Nyx when they took off.

 

“I got you.” Mor enjoyed Nyx pulling her close, touching lips to Mor’s forehead, and it was in that embrace that Mor settled in and breathed easy. “Would you like to meet my family? I’ve met yours.”

 

“That sounds wonderful.” Mor is tired, her body feeling heavy from the stress of Azriel’s questions and Nyx’s emotions. She’s been trapped in Velaris as of late, Feyre’s pushing of them together had suffocated Mor. The realization hit mid flight, and it was a almost enough to make her laugh.

 

She’d been trapped in Velaris, and as much as she loved her home, she needed to at least be able to say she could leave. It was not Velaris that was the problem, so much as the memories of why she could be trapped. It brought forth the emotions of waiting for Rhys and begging for the nightmares to end.

 

But they were not leaving Velaris, as Mor had thought, and they moved to the other side of the city in a small secluded area away from most other people. The town was far enough away that they could watching the lights of the buildings turn on and off with the time of day. 

 

There were three houses, all large, around a central area where a woman was sitting. She was sitting at a fire, and she used a knife to slowly scrape off layers of wood on a stick in her hands. Nyx landed, Mor barely feeling the force, and murmured at the woman. “Elizael. Did you even tell Hasnir I was coming?”

 

The woman offered a smile as bright as the fire she was sitting by. “Of course I did! I just wish you’d confirm that bond of yours and invite your mate to stay.”

 

Mor felt her entire body turn cold, her fingers twitched and Nyx noticed. Of course Nyx noticed.

 

“That’s her decision. She has her own family. Now, you vermin, help me find Mineor and the others. We’re having a family night.” Nyx left Mor standing, moving away with a hand slowly sliding from Mor’s exposed shoulder. Mor followed, quiet and drawn into her thoughts.

 

Elizael tutted. “Azrog may be out.” Nyx and Elizael shared a moment of connection that made Mor’s blood churn. 

 

“Again?” Nyx sneered at the ground, muttering obscenities.

 

“He was good during the war.” Elizael’s hand was close to Nyx’s shoulder, fluttering just above the joint. “You know he won’t hurt her.”

 

“We can’t say that for sure.” Nyx was shaking and Mor wanted nothing but to comfort her mate, she moved in and an arm slid around Nyx’s waist without Mor’s permission. Even her body wanted to comfort Nyx. Nyx returned the favor, nose nuzzling into Mor’s hair. “But we have more important things I suppose. Az… I trust Az knows what she does.”

 

Elizael seemed to disagree, but nothing else was said as they made their way inside the house. It reminded Mor of the house of wind with more room for wings and people. Her home was large, meant for Rhys and the others, but this was meant for a family the size of a small army. 

 

“El? Have you seen my knife? I wanted to sharpen it before I went to train-“ Hasnir entered the room and grinned. “Well, I see someone has finally brought the new edition home. I thought I’d never get to meet you outside of that party.”

 

Hasnir sticks out a hand, and Mor raises an eyebrow. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Morrigan.” Mor takes his hand and the two share a brief moment of connection. Friends, family, and Nyx is something they both stand by without question. This is all traded within an instant, a handshake, and then its over when Hasnir pulls his hand away. 

 

“Mor is her nickname.” Elizael offered with a laugh. “Nyx has told us all about you. The first day she came home with Hasnir and Az, she was a fluttering mess of an Illyrian. Barely able to stop vibrating.”

 

It already felt like a family when Nyx snapped about not sharing intimate details, and Hasnir winked at Mor conspicuously. 

 

After being introduced to all those that came to dinner, and then introduced to those that came in just to meet Mor, Mor was exhausted and tired. She loved meeting people, but she also valued being able to be alone and watch the stars. Her mate sensed this and whisked her away, muttering apologies to the Illyrian women who hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Mor. Hasnir and Tarren had kept Henna from hugging Mor to death. 

 

A family indeed.

 

The stars were beautiful, shining, and Nyx laid next to Mor and sighed. “You know them through my story. I hope you get to know them in real life.”

 

And that was that. No expectations, just hopefulness and an offer. Mor had her own family, but this was a good chance to get away and just let life continue. That was hard to do after a war, let life continue, but it was much easier when the people around her were whisking her forward into a new time that had many surprises in store. She hated to say this, but she could predict Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys fairly well. 

 

The next morning, Nyx was up early, cooking, and Mor joined her with a smile. Her lips had already been painted, her dress was that of Elizael’s (they had somehow found one that accented Mor’s waist in a way approved by both of them), and her hair had been done up and was out of the way. She felt fresh, reinvigorated, and Nyx glanced at her only a couple times before getting lost in cooking.

 

Nyx shooed Mor away every time Mor tried to help cook and when Nyx set the plate down in front of Mor, hands shaking like leaves in the Autumn breeze, Mor swallowed. She knew what this meant. She knew with all her heart what she wanted. But she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready and she knew she wasn’t ready. 

 

Feyre… she hadn’t even talked to Feyre about this possibility. Feyre had brought it up, mentioned it once or twice, but she’d brushed it aside as something that didn’t happen until the relationship was as solid as iron and steel. 

 

But wasn’t their relationship solid? Built? Slowly over a burning fire, the embers of the war had been built upon until they had this. They had now. Nyx was watching her, giving her time. Nyx was so used to everyone demanding and running around, doing things, so Nyx was patient and that patience was something Mor cherished. 

 

Mor took a bite and that bond _sang_. It sizzled between them as Mor finished breakfast and it took everyone ounce of Mor’s strength not to jump Nyx then and there. It seemed Nyx was having the same problem. 

 

Mineor was lucky enough to catch them before something happened, the tension between them was easy to see and weighed the air. The smell was what Mineor smiled at, however, and they coughed.

 

“Always good to see kids getting together.” Mineor watched Nyx start and turn with wide eyes, but Mor was smiling in a manner that had Mineor know she was perfect for Nyx. In truth, Mineor had planned to test whatever person tried to mate with Nyx, or anyone in their family, but it only took one look and the knowledge of history to know that Mor and Nyx would be just fine. “Well, I’m off. Good to meet you, Morrigan. Tell Rhysand I said hi.”

 

The sound of a table turning over was something Mineor chuckled at. With a small twist of their wrist, the doors to the kitchen locked shut and barred anyone from entering. At least for a little while, until the bonded mates were done.

 

When they were back at Mor’s home, their smell wafting through the breeze and catching Mor’s family’s attention, the others piled into the living room to look Nyx up and down. Feyre was there, with a small nod, and Rhys was by Cassian. They both look confused enough that Mor laughed, open and free. 

 

_How does it feel that they know?_

 

_It’s perfect._

 

Now all she had to deal with was the desire to murder Cassian for looking at Nyx.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading!


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